AUGUST 199 



Quiet, and very gradual, is the change from one season 

 to another ; is there one of us able to tell the exact day when 

 Winter leaves us? We only know that the cold is going, 

 when the snowdrops thrust their spears through the hard earth, 

 and when the violets in garden and by meadow-side perfume 

 the lingering snow ! After these two favourite flowers of 

 Spring have faded, together with the golden stars of the prim- 

 rose and lesser celandine, it is the unfolding of the rose and 

 the return of the swallow that tell us that Summer has dawned. 

 When the rose has shed its last petal and the swallow has 



thoughts of 



" Flying, flying south, 

 Flying from the golden woods," 



and when stream-sides are almost flowerless and bereft of the 

 glittering insects, and swaying in the wind and mist-heavy 

 stand the teasel and rushes and osiers, we know that Autumn 

 has come, bringing the snow and frost of Winter in its train ! 



Thus the year changes day by day, quietly, and almost 

 unperceived ; and as quietly as this change does Nature 

 wind her affections about our hearts not only drawing us 

 to her side when she flings her beauties broadcast in Spring 

 and Summer, but bidding us still follow her along the quiet 

 ways of later Autumn, and through the flower-forsaken days 

 of grey Winter-time ! 



